


you fall from grace but it is without dignity

by shae (5H4E)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Finn is actual literal Icarus, Gen, M/M, Self-Indulgent, e/R dynamics, what does that make Murphy? The feathers or the wax?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7488966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5H4E/pseuds/shae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For what it’s worth – which is, admittedly, very little - regardless of how catastrophically Finn has fucked up, to John he is still the best of them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you fall from grace but it is without dignity

**Author's Note:**

> Give me Finn/Murphy with e/R dynamics or give me the sweet release of death.

“What is the _point_ of you?” Finn demands of him one night; the two of them sat alone, together, by the remains of the once-burning camp fire. His voice is harsh when he speaks.

John does not know much of it, but he thinks he feels something like _affection_ for Finn, then, in a twisted, self-deprecating kind of way. Were it anyone else, the words would have jarred under John’s skin, but Finn has been hollow and cold since they were reunited at the dropship, and it feels good to recognise some small part of him again by the passion in his voice.

“What,” he asks, dragging his words softly, slowly, “is the point of _any_ of it?”

It’s not like John doesn’t _care_. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have held out for three days under torture to protect the people who threw him to his torturers in the first place; if he didn’t care, Finn’s numerous efforts to protect John wouldn’t mean anything, but they _do_.

“ _What_ are you _doing_ here, then? Why did you even bother coming back after everything?” Finn’s posture slackens; he shrinks into the dark of the night, face hidden behind his hair.  

If Finn wants to find a purpose in all of this, John cannot give it to him, and if that is a failure on John’s part, it isn’t something he’ll lose much sleep over, since a _purpose_ isn’t going to wash the blood off Finn’s hands.

But for what it’s worth – which is, admittedly, very little - regardless of how catastrophically Finn has fucked up, to John he is still the best of them _all_.

“‘ _If you prick us, do we not bleed_ ’?” John snorts, kicking at a twig with his shoe.

“I’m serious, Murphy.”

 _As am I_ , John thinks, staring at the thin golden-white slivers in the ashes of the fire. The air is thick with smoke, clinging to the two boys, and there’s only just about enough light to make out the outline of Finn’s face in the dark, but not his expression.

Silence envelops them. John watches for Finn to do something, to say something, but the other boy is silent, sat beside him in the dark. _Nobody wants us here_ , goes unsaid between them.

That fact is easier for John to take, but this new-found isolation and ostracism is taking its toll on Finn, who, perhaps for the first time in his life, is truly _alone_. That John is not enough for the former golden child of the Hundred comes as no surprise to John; that John is willingly the only one left by Finn’s side _does_.

“How can you come back here, if you don’t believe in any of this? What are you here _for_?”

John doesn’t believe in divinity, or the Chancellor, or skaikru or the Rebel King; but-

“I could believe in _you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> You'll never take my Finn Collins loving ass alive.


End file.
